21 Days
by ImaginedElegance
Summary: When Dally dies before his scheduled time, he is visited by a strange man at the scene of his death. He is told that, in order to regain his life, he must make three of his loved ones cry for him. Based on the Korean drama, 49 Days.
1. Prologue: Day 0

**AN - Hey guys! This story is based off of a Korean drama I watched a couple years ago, called 49 Days. So the general plot of this is not mine. And the characters (other than the OCs) belong to S.E. Hinton. Anyway, please review, follow, and favorite if you like the story. Thank you and enjoy!**

Prologue: Day 0

Monday evenings brought all kinds of delinquents to Buck's bar. Not the usual crowd of good-natured greasers, but something much worse. There were the arsonists, the serial rapists, the psychopathic killers. Always Monday, too. Must've been the hangover of another eventful Sunday that kept them crawling back to Buck's place.

Without fail, those men hung around on the first day of the week. And that's why, when Monday rolled in, you could always find Dallas Winston anywhere else. The crowd was its own mobile New York City, a place he never wanted to see again. He didn't even acknowledge its existence anymore.

He called it New York Night at Buck's and he'd only been to one. The resemblance was too much. He'd left that city for a reason...

Those nights, he always tried to jump into bed with Sylvia cause he had nothing else to spend his time on. Except Johnny. But Johnny seemed to dislike staying out too late. Something to do with his parents getting mad whenever he did. Thinking about Johnny's parents made his skin crawl, his stomach churn. He willed the feeling away, though, distracting himself with thoughts of Sylvia.

When he walked up the steps of her house, he came face-to-face with his girlfriend's brother, who'd been waiting for him at the door.

"She ain't home," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Get outta here, Winston."

Normally, Dally wouldn't have listened to him. He would've forced his way into the house and looked for Sylvia himself. But it was something about a Monday night that made that task seem much more strenuous. Really wasn't worth the effort. Or the fight that would surely follow his forced entry.

So it was Sylvia's fault that he was wandering around the darkened streets, searching for any source of entertainment he could find. Not much to do out in Tulsa when your friends liked to sleep and you didn't have money. Dally had learned that on his first day in town.

He tried shoving that thought away, but it kept on bugging him. His first breath of fiery Oklahoma air... The heat ripples that had hovered above the cracked pavement... He strayed into the road, losing himself to the memories.

When he recovered his senses, he became aware of a sound, a feeling. Some distant rumble, a slight quivering in the ground he stood on. He glanced around, still dazed from his reflection. Nothing. He walked on.

Then, there was an explosion of yellow light as a car came barrelling around the corner. He didn't have the chance to dive out of the way - it all happened too quickly for that. Glass broke, bones broke. Searing pain washed over him, wave after wave, becoming increasingly intense. He felt himself roll off the hood of the car and just lay in the road, helpless. The driver was screaming. He couldn't hear words, though. Didn't see anything either.

It took a good fifteen minutes before he woke up again. He hadn't even been aware that he was sleeping... Groaning, he dragged himself up to his feet then glanced around. A car with a shattered windshield, an ambulance, a stretch of pavement soaked in blood. His eyes dropped down to his own body which he found to be miraculously undamaged.

"Dallas Winston?" a voice asked, demanding his attention.

"Yeah?" He glared at the man who approached him. As he faced off with the man, a police officer jogged by them, heading toward the driver of the car.

"I need you to come with me."

Dally shook his head vigorously. "I ain't goin' to the hospital," he said. "I'm fine."

The guy pointed to a group of paramedics. "Too late for that, son. They're already taking you."

His eyes followed the stranger's fingertip, gaze coming to rest on the emergency medical team. But he couldn't see much aside from their backs. They seemed to be hovering around a stretcher, administering first aid to some unlucky bastard. A sense of sadism drove him to see who it was. He took a few steps then froze.

That was his face. On the broken body of the crash victim. His face, dressed in purple bruises and rusty blood. How was that possible?

"Hey!" he shouted, running forward and grabbing at the stretcher. His hands passed right through it. "Would ya give that back? I kinda fuckin' need it!"

"They can't hear you," the strange man told him, moving to stand at his side. "You're dead, Dallas. Well, dying. You're not quite gone yet."

He felt his face turn pale. "Who are you?"

"I'm called the Scheduler," the man explained. "I possess the knowledge of when everyone will die and I am to take them to their afterlife. But, that's what I mean to discuss with you. It isn't your time to die right now."

Dally said nothing.

"I can give you your life back," he continued, carefully studying Dally's expression. "Real simple, too. All you have to do is collect the tears of three people who love you."

"Oh yeah?" Dally challenged, unable to rip his eyes away from his lifeless body. They loaded it into the ambulance and drove off to the hospital. "What's the catch?"

The Scheduler gave an innocent laugh. "No catch, just some minor rules."

He pulled a scroll out of his coat pocket and handed it to Dallas. It read:

 _Rules and Regulations_

 _1\. The tears must be shed for the individual specifically_

 _2\. The individual may not tell anyone of his/her quest_

 _3\. A host body may be used to aid in the completion of this task_

 _4\. The individual shall not harm the host body in question_

 _5\. The task must be completed within 21 days_

 _Any violation of these rules shall result in the immediate termination of the individual's life_

Dally stared at the words for a while, only vaguely aware of what they meant. It seemed pretty easy, though. He just needed three people who loved him enough to cry over him. Well, perhaps it wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. But there was at least one person he knew who would cry for him.

He handed the scroll back to the Scheduler, nodding slightly. "I'll do it."

The man grinned at the blond greaser approvingly as he tucked the scroll into his coat pocket. He searched another of the many pockets, pulled out a chain from which a glass teardrop hung. With a new sense of wariness, Dally reached out and took it.

"This will keep track of how many tears you've collected," the Scheduler explained. "When it is full, your life will be restored."

"I ain't wearin' a necklace."

A soft laugh came from the man, like wind chimes being tossed about in the breeze. "Of course not. It can stay your pocket, if you'd like." He patted Dally's shoulder.

Dally stepped back a bit as the touch sent weird jolts of unpleasantness through him. The feeling vanished once contact was broken. But he still shuddered in spite of himself. So he studied the necklace to keep his thoughts away from the strange man.

It was a silver chain, thin and delicate. If he tugged on it, he was sure the metal links would snap. And the little glass teardrop sparkled in the moonlight, sending faint rainbow hues to dance on the pavement below. Very much unlike the jewelry he'd ever seen a greaser girl wear...

"Well, I suppose I should be getting you to your host now," the Scheduler said, his soft voice somehow easily regaining Dally's attention.

"Host..."

It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway. "Yeah. Jack Marshall - good kid, good family. You'll like him just fine, I think."

Before Dally could reply, the Scheduler snapped his fingers. The world got hazy, started fading out. Dally glanced around, squinting in an attempt to see clearly. Despite his efforts, it all passed into nothingness. There was one last voice, though, scarcely recognizable. The Scheduler's voice, whispering a gentle _Good luck_...


	2. Day 1

**Reviews:**

 **StayingGoldSince2002 - Glad you think so! :)**

 **ForeverMandi - Aw, thank you! Sorry this took a little while, but here's chapter 2**

 **Sammy - Thanks for continuing to support me and my stories. I'm so happy you like this one! And I really appreciate your suggestion, but I'm not sure if Darry is one to cry (maybe under the right circumstances, though...). I'll have to think about it. I hope you understand.**

 **XxLillyWinstonxX - Haha, amazballs! xp Thank you for such a magnificent compliment! :p**

 **PercyboyCade - I'm updating, I'm updating. Don't you worry. :p There'll probably be many more cliff-hangers, too. Just to make you freak out, of course! xp Anyway, thank you so much for reading and reviewing!**

Day 1

Dally opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling. It was nicer than the one at Buck's place, especially nicer than the one at his own house. Maybe he was with Shepard then and everything he'd experienced had just been a dream. Painfully realistic, but nothing more than ghosts behind his eyelids.

Nothing hurt. Not even when he forced himself into a sitting position. His gaze swept over the room and his heart sank a bit. Definitely not Shepard's. There was a bookshelf pushed against the far wall, a desk piled high with homework to his right. And everything was so clean, organized even. He eased himself up off the floor - hardwood that apparently didn't hurt to sleep on - and turned. The bed behind him was occupied.

"What the hell?" he mumbled, taking a step backwards.

The person cocooned in blankets shifted then sat up. He stared at Dally confusion tainting his features. The greaser took a deep breath, heart beating fast as he tried to come up with an explanation as to why he was in this stranger's bedroom. He must've been really drunk and the door was open, so he... No, too simple.

But then the guy just crawled out of bed without saying anything, without wondering how someone he didn't know ended up here. He made his way to the dresser, grabbed his outfit for the day, and began stripping himself of his night clothes.

Dallas put his back to the stranger, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Sure, he'd seen all the guys in the gang getting dressed before, but this was different. It was weird when he didn't know where he was or what was going on or why someone he'd never met didn't mind being naked with him in the room.

"Jack, you're gonna be late for school!" a woman's voiced called from some distance. "Hurry down for some breakfast!"

"Coming, mom!" the guy - Jack - replied. He grabbed a bag from the corner and slung it over his shoulder. Then, he ran out the door, passing through Dally who gasped in both shock and discomfort.

 _So it's true_ , he thought as he followed after Jack. _That dream actually happened..._

He made it down the staircase before that idea really hit home. This wasn't him. It couldn't have been cause his own body was somewhere else. A hospital, a gutter. He didn't know where but he hoped it was safe. What a waste it would've been if he collected the tears only to find his body had died while he was away from it. He shrugged the thought aside and followed Jack through an open doorway.

The dining room was huge and ornately decorated like one of those mansion houses they had on the west side. He'd only seen a real one once before, during a break-in. The encounter ended with an arrest and a disappointed Mr. Curtis paying the bail. Needless to say, he became immediately uneasy after he'd made the connection.

Jack sat down at the table, started eating expensive-looking food. Dally felt the blood drain from his face as he noticed that Mrs. Marshall wore pearls. Mr. Marshall had a gaudy watch strapped to his left wrist - made with gold and ivory - and his suit was neatly pressed. Dally's eyes darted around the area. Paintings, heavy curtains, shining silverware.

 _Fuck. They're socs..._

He tried to calm himself, but the panic kept on growing until it contorted into rage. The Scheduler must've known. This all had been a trap. He didn't know why a supernatural being felt the need to trick him. He almost couldn't believe he'd just let it happen. Dying had made him stupid. There was no other way to explain it cause he knew wouldn't he have agreed if he was in his right mind.

The soc family ate in peace, completely unaware that a no-good greasy low-life shared this moment with them. They didn't know how he hated the situation, couldn't see his obscene gestures or hear his shouts. He was screaming at them, but they didn't even have the decency to stare through him.

Unable to pull himself back under control, he lunged at Mr. Marshall. That unpleasantness hit him again as another body passed through his own. It actually hurt. As if his body literally ripped itself open, making a passageway for Mr. Marshall. It was like being shot with a massive bullet, one that was bigger than him.

For a while, he couldn't move. He stayed crumpled on the dining room floor, recovering. When the pain passed, he picked himself up and returned to Jack's side. There was a girl with him now, clearly his sister.

"Jack, c'mon, just give me a ride to school," she pleaded, quickly eating some of the breakfast that was laid out before her.

"No way," he replied, standing and bringing his dishes into the kitchen - which was separate from the dining room and Dally found himself even angrier cause he'd never seen a setup like this in a greaser house. On the east side, you ate the food in the same room you made it in.

"Why not?"

"Because if I give you a ride in, you'll want me to bring you home, too," Jack said as he returned to the dining room. "I'm going to Dan's house straight after school and you're not coming with me."

At that point, the parents decided to step in, telling their kids to knock it off and deciding that Jack would, in fact, be bringing his sister to and from school. Or else. A small shiver ran down Dally's spine. He internally slapped himself for the show of weakness. Even if nobody could see it, he'd still allowed his body to react. In the east, something like that got you killed.

But he shrugged it off cause, in the west, you could act however you wanted to and no one would hurt you for it. And, for the moment at least, he belonged to the west side.

Thinking like that made him cringe. He wasn't a soc. He'd never be a soc. He never wanted to be one. But this was the hand he'd been dealt and he just had to play the cards he had without worrying about the ones he wanted.

"I'm leaving," Jack announced, breaking into Dally's thoughts. He marched right out the front door with his sister scurrying after and hopped into his muscle car.

With an annoyed sigh, Dally followed. _Guess I'm goin' to school today..._ he thought.

xxxxxx

School ended and Dally was more than happy to jump back into Jack's car. Even though that meant he'd have to hang out with whoever the hell this Dan guy was. Anything was better than school, though.

They dropped Jack's sister off at the house then headed deeper into soc territory. Dally just watched the scenery roll by - not like there was much to see aside from privileged kids hanging around in freshly cleaned restaurants and parks. Making matters worse, Jack drove at exactly the proper speed for the entire ride. Nothing frayed Dal's nerves more than the feeling of moving too slow. Life waited for no one and every extra minute spent driving were 60 whole seconds that he could've been elsewhere, properly utilizing the time he had left.

The car parked on the side of the road, in front of another large house. Jack killed the engine then walked up the driveway. Dally followed, noticing how the soc hadn't bothered locking the doors. If someone stole the car, his parents would just buy him a new one. That was how life worked in Soc-land. No worries cause their rich daddies took care of everything.

Music blared through the walls of the house as they approached, already giving Dally a headache. He wondered why he still felt pain when he knew he was pretty much dead, but he didn't have time to think about it. At that point, Jack was already being accepted into the party and Dally had to run to slip in through the closing door.

"Hey man! You're late!" some socy asshole shouted from across the room. He got up from the couch and forced a beer bottle into Jack's hand.

"Yeah, sorry," Jack replied, taking a couple gulps of his drink. "I had to bring Judy home first."

"You coulda brought her with you," socy asshole said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I wouldn't have minded."

"Dan, what the hell?" Jack punched his friend's arm playfully. Dally cringed in spite of himself. If he'd had a sister and a guy tried to imply shit like that when he talked about her... That bastard would've been hospitalized for weeks.

After that quick exchange, the guys settled in and kept drinking. Dally stood in the corner, hoping to avoid having a drunk soc pass through him. His eyes locked on to Jack's face as he watched the soc drink. Jealousy stirred in the pit of his stomach. What was he supposed to do? Just sit there, unable to drown himself in beer while he listened to these pretty-boys complain about their perfect lives? And he couldn't touch a drop of liquor, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was about ten o'clock when a strange feeling came over him - like a rope had been fastened around his lungs. It yanked him forward, forcing his feet to move. He walked over to Jack. The soc had passed out on the floor cause he'd been drinking since three in the afternoon. Dally's breath grew more difficult to take the closer he got to the body, but he couldn't stop his advance.

He knelt down beside the soc and placed his fingertips on Jack's chest. An encouraging jolt of pleasure ran up his arm, instinctively making him press his fingers into the feeling. His hand passed through fabric and flesh as easily as through air or water. When his whole right fist was submerged, he felt a strong force pull on him, He resisted at first but soon gave in.

The next thing he knew, he was staring at the ceiling, confusion furrowing his brow. The room whirled and nausea slammed into his stomach moments after he regained consciousness. He tried to stand, but the dizziness forced him to his knees. Vision swimming, ears ringing, head pounding. He gasped for air, crawled across the floor in search of a window. Or a bathroom. God, he had to piss!

"Jack?" a voice asked, sounding considerably less drunk than Dally felt. "You okay?"

"That bastard's fine," Dally grumbled, but it wasn't his voice. It was... Who was it? He just shrugged to himself, violent enough that it threw him off balance and he collapsed back onto the floor. Landed on his stomach. Surprised he didn't vomit right there. "Fuckin'... I need air..."

"What...?"

Dally watched through blurry eyes as the soc nudged another one of his friends awake. The newly conscious guy groaned and sat up, demanding to know why he was being harassed at such an unreasonable hour.

"Jack says he can't breathe," the other one explained as he returned to Dally's side. His hands felt clammy as they rolled Dallas onto his back. "Should I take him to the hospital? Maybe we pushed him too far this time... What if we've killed him?"

Soc 2 grunted from the other side of the room then stood up, made his stumbling way over to his friends. "Well don't put him like that! He could choke!"

As if on cue, Dally felt the bile rising in his throat, burning him. He struggled into a sitting position then asked - in that voice he didn't remember having - to be helped to the bathroom. The two guys grabbed him under his armpits, dragged him into the requested area. They tried to follow him in, but he shoved them away, almost falling to the floor as he lost the support.

"I ain't gonna die!" he shouted and they left him alone for the moment.

He opened the lid of the toilet then fumbled with his zipper. As he finished, he sighed a bit, thankful that the need to piss had been taken care of. But there was still the nausea, the dizziness. The toilet flushed seemingly on its own and he collapsed around it, weakly wrapping his arms around its bowl. He knew he was gonna throw up. There was no denying it. Even as he had the thought, his body gave a violent heave. The contents of his stomach spilled into the water - a ton of beer and whatever he'd eaten for breakfast that morning. Wait...

When it was all over, he leaned back on his heels, sitting there until they hurt. He felt a little better, but not by much. The effects of the alcohol still plagued him, fading too slowly to be gone any time soon. With an annoyed sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and washed his face in the sink. The towel lowered once he finished drying his skin.

Jack stood across from him, mirroring his confused expression.

"Fuck you, Marshall. Get outta here," Dally said, throwing the cloth down to the floor tiles. Jack did the same thing at the same time. And that was when he realized what was happening.

He was possessing a soc.

 **AN - I'm so sorry this update took so long! It wasn't supposed to take forever, but I've been pretty busy and my well of inspiration has been empty for a while... Anyway, thanks for reading and please review/favorite/follow if you enjoyed this chapter!**


	3. Day 2

**Reviews:**

 **Sammy - Haha! Thank you so much! You saying that means a lot to me. I'm really grateful for all you've done for these stories. :) I hope you like this next chapter!**

 **PercyboyCade - You? Mean? Never! Don't worry, I take your impatience as a compliment. Anyway, I hope you don't mind that I'll probably continue to torture you with these cliff-hangers. We'll see... :p**

Day 2

"Jack, where have you been? Mom and Dad are gonna kill you!" Judy cried out, running up to Dally as he stepped into the mansion.

He shoved her away then stormed up the stairs without answering. The whole affair at Dan's place hadn't exactly made him feel especially friendly towards these dumb socs. Probably hated them even more for what they'd done. What Soc 1 and Soc 2 had said about pushing Jack too far... Something seemed off about that. Dally knew enough about friendship to judge them harshly for how they'd treated the guy. You just didn't get someone you cared about _that_ drunk. Even if it would've been hilarious.

Dally smirked at the thought, remembering. Just last week, he'd been hanging out with Two-Bit at Buck's and the russet-haired greaser had downed twelve beers in rapid succession before Dal had decided to intervene. What could he say? A drunk Two-Bit was a much funnier Two-Bit. But he knew how to hold his liquor. Jack clearly didn't and the other socs had known that.

"Wait..." the girl said thoughtfully. She bolted up the stairs, following Dally into Jack's room. Once inside, she got real close and sniffed. Her face contorted in disgust. "You've been drinking. Did you drive drunk?"

"So what if I did?" he challenged.

"You could've killed somebody!" she shouted, throwing her arms up. Her eyes flashed dangerously and she fought for control of herself. A couple deep breaths passed through her lungs. Then she sat down beside Dally on the bed. "I just... I wish you'd be more careful. I don't know what I'd do if something bad happened."

Dally shrugged, glaring at the reflection of Jack with his sister. He didn't think he'd ever get used to that - seeing a soc when he looked into the mirror. It was too strange, surreal. Like he could've been only dreaming as he lay in a hospital bed.

He wondered what was happening with his body, if it was receiving proper care. No one _really_ cared for greasers. Not here and definitely not in New York. That's why he'd learned to care for himself. If you didn't look after yourself, no one else would. But he was in a bit of a bind with this situation, all things considered, and he supposed he'd just have to put some faith in the gang. They'd have made sure he was getting treated right. They wouldn't have let anything too terrible happen... Right?

There was a gentle sigh, coming from the girl beside him. He turned to face her - what was her name again? - and raised an eyebrow. The expression looked weird on that face. It wasn't the threatening curiosity he was used to seeing. On Jack's face, a raised eyebrow was just genuine confusion.

"I'm going to school..." Janet(?) mumbled, standing up.

 _No, that ain't right..._ Dally thought as he watched the younger girl shuffle out of the room. _Jean? Jessie? Damn, what the hell is her name?_

After a moment, he gave up. It didn't really matter to him if he knew the name of his host's sister. He made a mental note to try to avoid everyone Jack usually came in contact with. Any interaction with them would only cause trouble and, at that point, he figured he was having more than enough problems without needing to worry about Jack's social life.

"Jackson Robert Marshall!" A vaguely familiar man's voice assaulted Dally's ears, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. The door was thrown open and the polished knob slammed against the bedroom wall.

Once the man was standing in the doorway, Dally recognized him as Jack's father. A tall guy with decently muscular arms despite his age, he was in a constant state of scowling disapproval. At least, that's how Dallas saw him - not that it mattered any. As soon as he got the tears he needed, he'd never see Mr. Marshall again.

"Yeah?" Dally replied, leaning back on the bed in a gesture of half-hearted defiance. He refrained from saying anything too rough, though, cause he didn't want them to figure out what was going on with their son. He was pretty sure that Scheduler guy wouldn't take kindly to having the secret spoiled on only the second day. That would've ruined the fun...

"Listen here, boy," Mr. Marshall growled. "I don't ever want to see your sorry ass stumbling home like that again. If anyone from the company saw you, I'd be ruined." The tone of his voice changed completely, suddenly transforming into something kinder. "You understand, don't you?"

"No."

The anger returned in a flash, darkening his eyes like storm clouds smothering a pale blue sky. "What did you say?"

"Nothin'."

He couldn't quite comprehend what happened next. It seemed too odd to have been real, but that didn't mean it was okay. There must've been a hint of disrespect in his voice cause Mr. Marshall's face got all red when his response burrowed into the older man's ears, probably echoing in his empty head.

Dally grinned, unable to stop the crooked expression from stretching across his face. Sometimes, he was real funny - especially when insulting people. Humor and harsh words went together better than anyone else cared to think. They were afraid of hurting feelings, but he didn't mind having to break a couple hearts. All part of greaser life.

The pain wiped that smirk right off his face. Heat welled up in his cheeks and he noticed a sharp stinging sensation spreading from his nose, out to his ears. His fingertips unconsciously brushed across his upper lip. Spots of blood dirtied his fingers as he pulled them back, gaze shifting from the scarlet drops to the ruby-faced man and back again. Utterly dumbstruck until he noticed the little flecks of blood tainting the clock face of Mr. Marshall's gold and ivory wrist watch.

"You hit me," he said, void of all expression now.

Mr. Marshall cleaned his watch on the comforter of the bed, leaving behind bloodstains when he finally walked out of the room. Dally curled up on the mattress and appeared much more cat-like than he ever had before.

xxxxxx

He must've fallen asleep cause, the next time he opened his eyes, he saw Jack's face beside him rather than in a mirror. Dally scrambled off the bed, mouth sneering in disgust. It didn't matter that he wasn't physically there. Dallas Winston would never share a bed with another man. Already, his mind produced the mocking words of his friends - what they would've said if they'd known. _Faggot..._ He shuddered in spite of himself.

Jack sat up, a look of confusion spreading over his features as his fingers tentatively prodded his bruised lip. "What the hell...?"

"Your old man's an asshole," Dally said even though he knew the soc couldn't hear him. "Are ya really surprised that he'd hit ya?"

The soc went about his usual morning routine which included getting changed, grabbing a bite to eat, then brushing his teeth. The only difference was that it wasn't morning. It was the afternoon. By then, school had ended and most of the day was wasted on sleep. The sister came home shortly after Jack had finished getting ready. She checked in with him quickly then retreated to her room so she could do her homework.

It was probably around five o'clock - 2 and a half hours of Jack lazing around the mansion - when Mr. Marshall returned from work. He strolled into the living room awkwardly, forced a wrapped present into his son's hands.

"What's this for?"

"It's... umm..." Mr. Marshall fidgeted with his wrist watch. After a few moments of this strangely out-of-character behavior, he met Jack's gaze. "It's because I hit you. And I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

"You...hit me?" Jack's head tilted a bit to one side and his eyebrows shot up skeptically. Then a grin took over his expression. "Must've been a good punch... I don't remember it at all." He laughed as he patted his dad's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I probably did something wrong. And I really don't need a present or an apology."

Dally stared at the soc boy, eyes wide for a moment. It didn't make any sense to him. Why did Jack forgive so easily? How did he even have the strength to say it was alright?

When Dal's dad hit him, Dally hit back. Then he'd run out before the fighting got too bad and try to find a way to calm himself. Which usually meant violent sex with random broads. But sometimes... It killed him inside to think about it, but sometimes he just found a safe place to hide. A place where he could be alone, where he could let those burning tears roll down his bruised cheeks.

He hated crying. It was weak, pathetic. Many people had told him so, back in New York. They'd beat him down worse if he cried cause even the young boys had to be tough. There wasn't room for emotion in a city like that. If he still lived there, he knew without a doubt that his current quest would've been impossible to complete.

 _Thank God for dying in Tulsa..._ he thought, hanging his head a bit as he followed Jack out of the bedroom. He hadn't noticed how worn down he felt until that point and he just wanted to be able to sleep again. Properly.

Jack stayed home that night. He got a phone call from Dan, who was probably concerned when his friend hadn't met him at school that morning. With a sigh, he explained how much the party had tired him out and how he'd only woken up sometime in the afternoon. But he assured the other soc that he was fine, quickly hanging up before Dan could say anything else.

Dally silently followed him around, lost in his own messed up thoughts. New York... You just couldn't escape it that easily. Maybe in Tulsa it was okay to be more open, but the city had locked him up damn tight. Leave behind the city and it went with you. Hovered along wherever he ran, always above his head like a storm cloud threatening to dump gallons of rain water on his head at any moment. It was a part of him.

When night came and the soc finally fell asleep, the greaser felt that same pull he'd experienced the first time he'd possessed Jack. But he resisted the call. He just couldn't muster up the willpower to go on. At least not that night.

He watched Jack sleep, seeing the soc's peaceful expression. Must've been a good dream... But he couldn't understand why. Why Jack didn't care when he was abused. Why he himself cared so much about the feelings of a goddamn soc. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing at all and he wondered if maybe it'd be better if he just gave up.

 _I fuckin' deserve to die, don't I?_ He leaned his head back against the bedroom wall, hugging his knees to his chest as his eyes slid shut. _Everybody has to someday. Why can't I go now? What's even keepin' me here?_

 ** _AN - Thank you all so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter please give it a review. I'd love to hear what you guys think about Dally's situation and the general direction the plot is heading in. :D_**


	4. Day 3

**Reviews:**

 **sevenwise - Aw, thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. And I'm especially glad that you think Dally has stayed in character. He can be really hard to write! Anyway, thanks so much for reviewing and I hope you continue to read this!**

 **MoniquianRose - It's good to hear that you like the story! As for your question, Johnny is definitely one reason why Dally hasn't given up yet. And then he also wants to die on his own terms. You know?**

 _ **AN - Guys, I'm so sorry! I know it's been over a month since I updated this. My inspiration has been tricky lately and I had a lot of trouble finding the will to write. I hope you'll be able to forgive me. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter!**_

Day 3

In the morning, Jack went to school and Dally followed. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe something deeper. It didn't really matter to him why he kept going. He just did. It was how he'd grown up, he supposed. The ones who quit the fight were the ones who curled up on the side of the road and died. Penniless, nameless. Instinct demanded that he not turn out like that. Cause he was gonna make himself better one day.

That goal felt almost impossible to reach that day as he watched Jack buddy around with soc friends and a soc girlfriend and get good soc grades. If anybody was going places it was his host. Maybe he could latch on, take a joyride to a place where he could finally... No. Jack wasn't gonna be there forever. Hell, who was he trying to fool? Jack wasn't the one that would fade away.

He wondered if that was how it would happen. Stick around the full twenty-one days, enjoy the feeling of being somebody who actually had a shot at being something. Then what? Would the Scheduler talk to him one last time? Or would it all go black right away? Like some movie that ended too abruptly. Pony hated those. Johnny too.

And if that was what his life was, Johnny must hate it. Not just his life, though. Johnny would hate him, too. He imagined the boy standing by an unmarked grave - just a patch of soil breaking up the once uniform blades of grass. He could almost hear the kid crying, cursing the name Dallas Winston, spitting in the dirt.

 _I fucking deserve it, too_ , he thought, slinking after Jack as the soc walked to his final class of the day. _Johnny needed a better friend than me. I didn't even try..._

Now, he sat down on the floor beside Jack's desk, trying to get his mind off of how much of a disappointment he was to everybody he'd ever cared about. He told himself to focus on the lesson, but he found it incredibly dull, which was the reason he'd dropped out of school in the first place. Well, there were tons of reasons actually. It was boring, he was stupid, no one needed to know any of the shit being taught. And at least fifty other reasons.

When the class finally ended, Jack rose from his seat and proceeded out of the school toward his car. He sat in the driver's seat, Dally claiming the one beside him. But he didn't move for a long time. Like he was waiting for something...

After another couple minutes, his sister emerged from the school and approached the car. She opened the door to the passenger side, sat down on top of Dally (or rather, inside him since she was small enough to fit). Pain flared in him as if the girl was truly physically invading his body, pushing around his bones and organs to make room.

"Fuck..." Dally breathed, but he was too proud to attempt an escape to the back seat. No one made Dallas Winston move. Not even if staying where he was caused him excruciating pain.

"Thanks for driving me," the sister said, completely unaware of Dally's presence.

"Yeah, whatever..." Jack mumbled, shifting out of park and driving out onto the road. He drove in silence for a while, let the radio play its songs in the background, even hummed along with one. Finally, he glanced in his sister's direction. "Judy? Are you mad at me? You were acting really strangely this morning."

Judy glared at him. "Of course I'm mad! You came home drunk the other day. Drove yourself, too. Then acted like you didn't care if you killed someone."

Jack frowned, surely realizing that that was not something he'd do. Dally managed to look at him, scan his face for the suspicion that should've been there. But there was only regret. At least, that's what Dally thought the expression was. It was a little difficult for him to concentrate when he felt as if his entire body had caught fire. Burning. Maybe there really were flames within him, eating him alive. He threw his head back against the seat, gritting his teeth to prevent any vocal expressions of pain. And the conversation just continued.

By some miracle, they made it home before Dally lost consciousness, though he wondered if he was even able to pass out. He knew for a fact that he couldn't sleep so maybe it was the same for this.

The family sat down for dinner, talking about their respective days. Jack's sister aced a quiz, his mother met up with a friend she hadn't seen since high school, his father... Well, that's about the point where Dally zoned out. He'd gotten distracted by the food, imagined his stomach rumbling. It probably tasted amazing... God, all he wanted was to be able to eat again, have dinner at the Curtis house. Feel full one more time.

He should've eaten enough to make him sick, before he'd died. Cause now that he thought of it, he wasn't completely sure that he had eaten at all that entire day. If he ever got a second chance, he'd remember to stuff himself. That was a promise.

xxxxxx

That night, Dally watched Jack climb into bed - relatively early for a soc who liked to party - and felt the already familiar tugging sensation. He followed its lead without complaint, let it take over. It made him weird, though. Creeping up on another man as he slept. Touching his body... And it felt good, for god's sake! He didn't think he'd ever forget those little jolts of pleasure. The ones that started at his fingertips where his skin connected with Jack then rushed up his arm, through his chest. They made his heart race.

But it was too strange, too unnerving. So he closed his eyes. He couldn't stand to look at Jack's peaceful face as his spirit was drawn into the unknowing host's body. It felt wrong, especially since Jack didn't give him permission. Not that Dallas Winston needed it. He did what he wanted, whenever he wanted, and no one could convince him that he wasn't behaving properly. Being bad always felt better anyway.

Having taken full possession of his host's body, he got out of bed and changed into the least obnoxious outfit he could find. He wasn't sure what his plans were for the night. But he sensed something in himself, instinct maybe, that seemed to be trying to direct him. And, seeing as how he could think of no better way to accomplish his quest, he just went with it.

It took him into greaser territory, far beyond the borders of the west side. Home. As much of a home that he deserved, that is. But he didn't stray back to the rundown shack of a house that his father lived in. Strange... That was supposed to be the first place he'd go when looking for love.

Instead, he found himself in the abandoned lot. And the sight of it looming ahead of him made his knees weak. You never realize how much a place means to you until you pretty much die and think you'll never see it again. But Dally had never been one for sentimental thoughts. He stomped toward the place, as angry as if he had caught it in bed with his girlfriend. The anger faded, though, the moment he stepped onto the grass and noticed Johnny crouching less than fifteen feet away.

His heart might've lurched, but he ignored it as he walked more rapidly to get closer, forgetting his current predicament. "Johnny."

The boy's head snapped up at the sound of his name being called by an unfamiliar voice. He shrunk back into the grass when he saw the tall stranger. "Who... Who are you?"

Internally, Dally cussed himself out for being so carelessly stupid. Of course Johnny wouldn't have been able to recognize him. He looked like a soc now and, as far as his friend was concerned, the real Dallas Winston was off dying in a hospital.

 _Why can't he see that body's empty?_ Dally wondered. But then again, the body he currently occupied wasn't exactly full.

Before he could bring himself to answer the question, Johnny whipped out a poorly made switchblade - where was the one Dally had stolen for him? - and brandished it about as expertly as a puppy could've. The dark-haired boy got to his feet, drew closer to what he considered to be a threat. His voice got low, dangerous when he finally spoke again.

"I dunno what you're doin' round here, soc, but you best get movin'. Else my buddies gonna come by and beat ya real good." And though he sounded so brave, to Dally's ears, he was the same scared little Johnnycake.

He couldn't force the kid to be brave. He couldn't be that selfish. It didn't feel right, scaring him like that. So he withdrew. Back to the land of fancy cars and snobby douchebags which he hated more than anything else. For Johnny...


	5. Day 4

**Reviews:**

 **imaginerin - Oh my god, thank you so much! Your reviews made my day. I'm glad to hear that you like how Dally's voice came out in this cause that's something I'm always worried about. He can be extremely difficult to write... So it's great that you think I portray him accurately. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and review all four chapters (and in such a short time, too! xD ). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next chapter as well!**

 **Amanda - Don't worry about it; I took a long time to update. :p Glad you liked it, by the way!**

 **Lovetoread75 - Thanks! I'm attempting to update faster, so you'll find out more about what's going on faster. Hopefully.**

Day 4

Dally lingered on the bed for longer than he'd been expecting to. His host was beside him, still blinking away the haze of sleep. Slightly, he turned his head away and tried to ignore Jack. Cause he was comfortable - at least, he imagined that he was. He imagined that he felt the plush mattress and silky sheets that cradled his body, that he was really there. Not just a ghost. But he couldn't fully enjoy it, cause all too soon, his senses caught up with him.

He threw himself off the bed violently, eyes resting fully on Jack's disoriented features as he regained his balance. Icy eyes narrowed, watched the soc who attempted to rise and meet the challenges of the day.

The greaser turned towards the door abruptly. Didn't want to look anymore, especially not when his host began stripping off the pajamas. He waited until the soc had finished changing, tapping his foot impatiently and wishing for a cigarette the entire time. Then he followed Jack to the bathroom, where he was once again required to wait. It seemed to take much longer than usual.

Dallas imagined his host bending close to the mirror, poking at his bruised nose. Maybe that pansy thought it was broken. He barked out a short laugh at the thought. Course, it wasn't even moderately damaged - just red and bruised and swollen. A few more days and it would be unnoticeable. Then the nose would be completely healed. He'd had paper cuts that were worse than Jack's 'injury'. In his mind, he chose to forget that he'd been thoroughly stunned by Mr. Marshall's attack. Anger sparked in his veins as images of the blood-spattered watch invaded his mind. But he shoved it down cause he noticed Jack making his way down the stairs.

"Did you sleep well, honey?" He heard Mrs. Marshall ask as he joined his host at the dining room table.

"Like a fuckin' baby," Dally replied, voice thick with sarcasm as he spoke over Jack's response. "Cause, actually, _Mother_ , I was runnin' around all night tryin' to save my goddamn life."

"That's nice," she said, beaming at her son and pouring him a tall glass of orange juice - freshly squeezed, no doubt, which was completely unlike anything they had back on the east side. She rotated her body slightly, grabbed a serving of pancakes. The light of the chandelier made her pearl necklace sparkle when she turned back to place the plate in front of Jack. "There you are." She paused and glanced around. "Where's Judy?"

Jack shrugged, giving a half-hearted mumble that Dally couldn't quite understand.

But apparently, Mrs. Marshall had caught every word cause she put her hands on her wide hips. "Well, go get her then. I'm sick of hollering up those stairs, you know. And if she doesn't get ready quickly, she'll be late for school."

Without a word of argument, Jack rose from his seat. He disappeared up the staircase, his footsteps muffled by the soft carpeting. Dally watched him go and kicked his feet up on the table. He sat in Mr. Marshall's chair which had not been pushed in after the man had left for work. It was straight-backed, made of dark wood. His mind invented its hard touch that cut into his back, minimizing his comfort and forcing him to sit properly. Reluctant, he planted his feet flat on the floor and straightened his spine. It felt weird... But the pressure on his back instantly vanished.

In moments, Jack returned, his sister trailing behind him. She had bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes, Dally noticed, and her frown cut deep, disapproving lines in to the skin around her mouth. Brown hair pulled back into a careless ponytail, minimal makeup. And the sundress she wore was plain to the point of austerity.

She slumped down in the chair beside Jack, waited to be served. But nothing came her way. Her eyes darted upward and rested on her mother almost accusingly. Dally's lips pulled down in a slight frown as he watched the interaction.

"Judith Elsie Marshall, sit up straight," Mrs. Marshall demanded, meeting the girl's gaze. "For God's sake, you're a woman, not an animal. You won't be fed until you act properly. Do you hear me, young lady?"

The girl stood, looking a bit like a kitten that had been dropped into a puddle. She wrapped her arms around herself and allowed her eyes to drop to the neat tiled floor. "Wasn't hungry anyway," she mumbled. Dally caught her as she risked a glance in her brother's direction. He wondered if she silently begged for mercy. Pathetic... "I'll just start walking to school, I guess. Mr. Atkins wanted to see me before class starts. He asked yesterday. I forgot until right now. So I really should get going..."

Dally rolled his eyes at her weak excuse. It was so obviously a lie. The idea it was based on was overdone and her execution was shoddy at best. First off, she needed a better story - something a little more creative than a teacher wanting to meet with her before school. Cause he knew from personal experience that no teacher wanted to spend more time than necessary with their students.

Then she needed to keep her mouth shut. Giving too many details led to immediate suspicion. Again, personal experience. He'd learned this lesson the hard way, back in New York City. His body shuddered involuntarily as he remembered. Dark room, blinding lights. Intense heat, palms sweating, drying them on ripped up and dirty jeans.

He forced a smile for no one - maybe himself - then turned his attention back to the Marshall girl.

By then, she had moved to the doorway, thrown on a pair of pale grey sandals, had her hand on the polished knob. She turned it. There was a soft click then Jack's vouce stopped her before she could go any farther.

"Let me give you a ride."

Mrs. Marshall smiled tenderly at the boy. "Look how sweet your brother is," she said then took a sip from the steaming teacup in her hand. "He doesn't have to help you, you know."

"I'd rather walk," Judy replied. She opened the door, stepping out into the early morning sunlight.

The moment she was out of sight, Jack jumped up and followed her. Dally trailed after him, only just able to go through the door before it slammed shut. The girl paused at the top of the driveway as her eyes rested on her brother. She waited a moment, expression mixed, weighing her options. Then she ran.

Jack stopped dead, just short of the sidewalk, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Dally glanced between his host and the shrinking form of Judy. There was something in the soc's eyes, something akin to familiarity. As if he was used to seeing his sister sprinting away like this. But he must've imagined it because he looked again and found no such expression. Of course he had imagined it. Everything was perfect when you were a soc. Problems were for the east-siders only.

Casting one last gaze down the street, Jack headed back inside. As he went, Dally swore he heard the guy mumble a name. Wayne...

That made Dally freeze in his place. _He talkin' bout Wayne Carver?_ he wondered, a deep frown taking over his features. Carver was trouble, that was a sure thing. It couldn't have been more than three weeks ago that the two of them were having words out back, behind Buck's place. Things got violent fast, but Dallas Winston wasn't one to back down from a fight. And it was going in his favor, too.

Until Carver pulled a gun on him. He had reached for his own, only to remember that he'd left it on the night table in his temporary room upstairs. Without a doubt, Carver would've shot him dead if the cops hadn't shown up at that very moment. The thug had grinned crookedly, helped Dal to his feet like they were friends. And that was the end of it.

He shook himself out of the memory and looked around. Jack stepped out of the house just then and the pair climbed into his car. This time, Dally sat in the back, directly behind the driver seat. Didn't want to risk getting sat on again, cause he had this feeling that his host was going to be picking up his sister the second he found her.

Sure enough, Jack slowed the car when he saw Judy walking on the side of the road and drove alongside her until she gave in. She buckled the seatbelt with a huff of annoyance.

"I told you I wanted to walk," she said.

"And Mom was worried you were going to be late," Jack replied, glancing over at his younger sister. He returned his eyes to the road and waited for a response. But Judy said nothing else. He took that as an invitation to change the topic to what he really wanted to talk about. "Look, if Wayne's the reason for your bad mood today-"

"He isn't," she interrupted as she folded her arms over her chest. "Because he's not what you say he is. I'm happy when I'm with him. So stop telling me lies about greasers, would you? They're just as bad as us..."

Dally looked up at that, wondered what the hell that stupid girl was talking about. Socs were worse; they had to be... Anyway, he was much more interested in hearing what Jack had to say about greasers. Not that he needed more reasons to hate the guy - really, he knew he had to like the guy - but his curiosity screamed for answers.

He probably said greasers were no good, just like everyone else on the west side. He'd probably jumped Johnny or Pony or some other kids that didn't deserve it. They only attacked the small, lonely ones. The weak. No soc had ever jumped Dallas Winston. Not since he left the city, not since he got tough. Because they ran off like cowards once they realized what they were messing with. Those socs couldn't have reached him when he was still vulnerable. Cause there weren't any in the city - not really, anyway. Just rival gangs.

Gang violence was rampant out there. And growing up on the wrong side of New York meant he'd been a victim. Many times, in fact. But it didn't bother him now like it used to. Cause he wasn't a victim anymore. Not in Tulsa. He was too tough for this place...

The cars, though. Well that was another matter entirely. He didn't seem to have much luck with them recently.

Jack brought the car down to a standstill at the stop sign. It was a bad intersection here, where you couldn't see much of the left cause the turn was sharp and the weeds grew treacherously tall. He checked both ways once, twice, three times. Then he began to pull out. At that exact moment, another car appeared from the left, ignoring the stop sign, barrelling into the intersection.

It hit the driver door. Hard. Dally watched silently, knowing there was nothing he could do. He couldn't touch anything, couldn't even feel the impact. So all he had were his eyes. Ice blue irises that were worthless, that only observed as the car door bent inward and crushed Jack's arm and shoulder and ribs. His gaze shifted to the passenger seat just in time to see Judy's head crash into the window then slump forward.

He watched her intently, suddenly wondering that's how he had looked after he'd been run over. Laying unconscious in the middle of the road, half his body tucked beneath the car that had hit him. It unsettled him, thinking like that, imagining that this girl was dead. Just like him.

Three minutes. He counted out three full minutes before he saw Judy's eyes flutter open. She sat up a little straighter, gently pressed her hand against the side of her head. Wincing, she pulled her fingers away and stared down at the blood that coated them. Then something seemed to occur to her. Dally saw the full horror on her face as she turned to inspect her brother. The fingers of her left hand took hold of Jack's uninjured shoulder.

"J-Jack?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

Even Dally found himself anxiously awaiting the soc's answer. After all, he was pretty sure his quest would end prematurely if his host died. Thankfully, Jack turned his head, signalling to the passengers that he was still alive.

"Yeah," he said through teeth clenched in pain. His face was bone white and droplets of sweat beaded on his temples, rolling down to his jaw. "Arm broken... Some ribs...too... Can't really...breathe...right... Y-you...?

"Just dizzy," she said, relief flooding her face.

Dally watched the other car start up again, back up, readjust its position. Then it sped off down the street it had originally been trying to get to.

"Fuckin' assholes," he muttered as the taillights disappeared from his view. "Coulda killed somebody... And they don't even own up."

xxxxxx

A few hours later, Jack got out of surgery and Dally followed the nurses as they moved their patient to his room. He was awake, but still pretty out of it, talking nonsense to anybody who would hear him out. The women placed him on the bed, hooked him up to their machines. Then, with a quick reminder of how to contact them, they left him alone. Mostly alone. Cause, of course, they didn't know Dally was with him.

"Where's Judy?" he asked suddenly, looking around the room in a pathetic attempt to find someone to talk to. His eyes rested on the beeping heart monitor. "Did you see where they took my sister?"

A pause. "They sent her home to rest up," Dally replied, leaning against the wall directly behind the heart monitor and folding his arms over his chest. "Just before they let ya off of that table. She got somethin' up with her head, but it ain't serious. That's all I overheard, though." He'd only just finished talking when he felt that eerily familiar pull.

His eyes sought out Jack's face, noticed that his host had fallen asleep. Cursing, he tried to resist cause no way in hell was he going to take over the pain the soc was feeling. But his body drew closer despite his strong will and, before too long, he fully possessed Jack.

He hissed in pain, burning sensations spreading out from his ribs, traveling up his chest and through his arm. Then he lay in silence and allowed his mind to wander. Got to thinking about himself, in the end - wondering where his own body was, if it was in this exact hospital. That thought jolted him out of the hazy state he'd slipped into. That, or the drugs were wearing off. Either way, he felt awake. And worse than that, he felt the urge to do something even though the pain nearly paralyzed him when he tried to move.

As carefully as he could, he ripped the IVs out of his arm and undid all the wiring that attached him to the machines. The heart monitor died, abruptly cutting off the mournful beeping. He figured that would've alerted the nurses, so he hurriedly fled the room, grasping a bundle of Jack's ripped and bloodstained clothes.

Not wanting to take any chances, he shuffled all the way to the next hall over before stepping into a utility closet. He pulled off the sling that held Jack's - his - broken arm then threw off the hospital gown. The roughness of the action sent waves of pain crashing down on him. He nearly cried out, but held it in until he had all his clothes back on. And even then, he only allowed a soft gasp to push through his lips.

He emerged back out into the hall, tried to appear as casual as he could as he walked down to the front desk. The receptionist's mouth fell open when she saw him and he knew he couldn't fool her. Even with his broken bones covered, the cuts and bruises on his face broadcasted the story for him. He was clearly a man in need of medical attention.

"Listen, sweetheart," he wheezed, "you ain't gonna report me. Got it? Cause if you do... Well, let's just say I wouldn't wanna be ya when I catch ya."

Her face paled, but she nodded eagerly. "W-what can I do for you, sir?"

"Dallas Winston. Tell me where he is."

"Room 103..."

Dally turned and lurched down the corridor, reading the room numbers in his head until he got to the right one. His hand hesitated over the knob. Did he really want to see himself? No. But he needed to. It was the only way to be sure that all this was real. That he wasn't just sleeping off a nasty hangover underneath someone's porch. Not on Buck's couch, of course, cause you only get fucked up dreams like this when you sleep in fucked up places.

So he opened the door and went in.

And there he was. Just laying in the bed, motionless, hooked up to one of those fancy life-support machines while a heart monitor droned on in the background. He drew closer to his own lifeless body. The face was still bruised and scraped up. The skin had turned grey, become loose as the coma ate away at fat and muscle. He looked so delicate, like he might just break if someone touched him.

But Dally couldn't help himself. He reached out and rested his hand on the stone cold forehead. It didn't feel the same anymore. Not like it did when he would push his hair out of his eyes or wipe sweat from his brow. It seemed fake - a mask that hid this patient's true identity from his eyes. Was this really him?

He left the room as quickly as he could after that thought. Before he could make himself feel worse, a strong hand grasped his broken shoulder, squeezing it hard in some underwhelming show of sadism. A small whimper of pain forced its way out of his mouth and his cheeks reddened with shame. He was Dallas fucking Winston! How the fuck could he make a sound like that?

"You shouldn't be out here, Mr. Marshall," the doctor said. "Let's get you back to bed."

"Fuck you," Dally said, shrugging the man's hand off his shoulder - an action which made the pain much more intense. "I can walk on my own. Don't need your fuckin' help..."

"Mr. Marshall, please..."

But Dallas was already slinking back towards Jack's hospital room. And, for the first time in a while, he felt defeated.

 _ **AN - Well, that was much longer than I'd intended. Hope you guys liked it, though. Let me know what you think cause I'd really love to hear from you! Thanks!**_


	6. Day 5

_**AN - Well, I just realized that it's been over a month since I updated this. Oops... To anyone who's still reading this, I'm sorry for the delay. Please enjoy the chapter and give it a review!**_

Day 5

Jack didn't get to do much once he woke up, being injured and all. But to Dally, that meant that he was also confined to the hospital room. He felt trapped, his spiritual body unable to open the door and his mind quick to boredom. Paced the length of the room several times then turned toward the window. There wasn't much to look at - just a parking lot full of cars and a sparse line of trees in the distance. With a sigh, he set his eyes on Jack.

The guy was just staring at the ceiling. Not that he could do much else, though. Dally shrugged and sat down on the floor, far enough away that nurses and visitors wouldn't pass through him. Sometimes, he thought of the pain... How it consumed him, burning every inch of his skin. He hated how it could make him whimper like he was nothing but a lost kid.

Frowning, he shook his head in an attempt to clear those thoughts from his mind. A bit difficult when there was nothing to do other than think. He closed his eyes, blocking out each piece of the room and visualizing someplace else instead. Wasn't sure why he did it, just wanted to feel better maybe. But that sentiment nearly made him laugh. The place he saw wasn't anywhere he wanted to be. At least, he didn't think so. He had pictured stark walls. Clean and white. And he could faintly hear shouting from some short distance away. Just to his left, a man appeared, wearing a corrections officer uniform and carrying a clipboard.

Dally opened his eyes, drank in the sight of the hospital room and the sound of the heart monitor droning on. Slowly, he got to his feet, cast a glance toward his host. Jack was clearly awake now and probably in need of more medicine. The soc had forced himself into a sitting position, watching the door like he expected some crazed killer to come bursting in and shoot him. But, of course, the only person to enter was a young, timid looking nurse.

Not that either of them were complaining. She was pretty hot - even with her hair tied back and that frown that chased away any hope of a smile. He probably would've tried to pick her up if he hadn't been just a soul without a body.

The nurse gently pushed Jack down, telling him that he couldn't sit up yet. He mumbled something, maybe an agreement, then settled back into the pillow. For a guy with fucked up ribs, he seemed alright. A quick healer, no doubt. Or maybe his body wasn't as damaged as they'd assumed. Either way, the nurse promised that, after another short surgery, he'd be allowed to rest at home. And good thing too, cause Dally was getting real sick of hospitals.

Once the nurse disappeared, several other people visited in quick succession. Mr. Marshall on his lunch break, Dan the asshole best friend, many other socs he didn't recognize from his time following Jack around, and finally, Theresa the girlfriend. She hung around much longer than the rest of the well-wishers, but that was just cause she had more to bitch about.

"You weren't going to see another girl, were you?" she demanded, scooting her chair close to the hospital bed and speaking in a growling tone. "Got distracted thinking about her, huh? You couldn't help but crash your car..."

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked, his voice weak.

She barked out a short and bitter laugh. "Don't play games with me. You know exactly what I mean." Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyes blazed. "Rachel West."

Dally raised an eyebrow at that. He never would've thought that some goody-goody soc was the type to cheat on his girlfriend. But, in the end, he figured that anyone was capable. Especially if said girlfriend was a suspicious witch that barely put out. In fact, she didn't seem to show much physical affection at all. No wonder Jack went running to another broad.

"We're just friends and you know it," his host replied. "Stop trying to make up problems."

The girlfriend scowled and stood up abruptly, knocking over her chair as she did so. She paused in the doorway, turned her head to glare at her boyfriend one last time. But the anger seemed to drop out of her without warning. Eyes settling on the linoleum tiles, she mumbled, "Yeah, okay..." Then she left, shutting the door behind her.

Jack sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. Only managed the feat a few times before wincing. Probably those ribs... Dally found his gaze locked on his host's abdomen, thinking, wondering how he could continue to possess someone with such an injury. It wasn't that he was afraid or nothing - cause everyone knows that Dallas Winston ain't ever scared - but he was definitely reluctant to take over his host's body. Figured he'd had enough of his own pain, anyway. That's why he was here in the first place. A car accident.

He gritted his teeth as the suppressed memories flooded back to the forefront of his mind and tried to force himself to focus on other things. Like his friends. Or his next run-in with the cops, even though he wasn't completely sure that he would ever make it back to his own physical body. But he had to keep going. For Johnny. Besides, he knew he couldn't just give up when this was only his fifth day out of twenty-one. He had time...

xxxxxx

Hours later, Jack came out of his second surgery. He could walk on his own with minimal difficulty, but Mrs. Marshall insisted on helping him. She took hold of his arm, guiding him out of the hospital while Mr. Marshall dealt with all the paperwork. They got into the car, along with Dal, then drove back to their fancy home on the west side. Something about being in that hospital had almost let him forget that Jack was a soc. Almost. But any bit of doubt he had was obliterated at the sight of the house.

How had he forgotten this? It was practically a mansion, for God's sake! There wasn't anything like it back in greaser territory. Well, aside from the courthouse, there wasn't. And that hardly counted as a greaser's property. The whole system was run by socs, after all.

He slipped out of the car, narrowly avoiding being cut in half by the closing door, and followed Jack up the stairs to his room. Mrs. Marshall fretted the entire way, gave a piece of advice for each of the twenty steps. Lay down, take a nap, drink water, take the medicine, call if you need anything. On and on until Mr. Marshall told her to quit babying the kid.

Jack rested like he had been told to while Dally paced impatiently. Sometimes, he would pause by the window and look over the expansive lawn, which was noticeably bigger than the abandoned lot where Johnny and Pony liked to hang out. He pressed his hand against the glass, traced invisible patterns with his invisible fingertips until he grew bored. Soon after, he returned to his pacing, restless. It seemed to be an eternity before anything happened.

The bedroom door opened, a small and cautious gesture that seemed much more significant than it really was. Judy walked to the center of the room then froze. Her slight frame somehow appeared imposing as she stood there. Dally figured it must've been the lack of any danger that attempted to make his mind invent some of its own. Or maybe the weight of what she was about to say had turned the still atmosphere electric, sparking with tension.

"Wayne said there's a fight later. In the back lot of the grocery store on the border," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "You going?"

"I dunno, haven't decided yet," Jack replied as his fingers unconsciously tested the strength of his stitches. "Who'll be there?"

"Shepard's boys, mostly. Wayne said he might, but he doesn't want me to worry about him." She paused and gave her brother a meaningful look. "Isn't that sweet? He cares about how I feel." Silence. After another moment, she gave up on seeking a response. "So, yeah, just the Shepard gang and maybe some others. Then, on the soc side... Dan, Adam, a decent number of the football players... I think that's it."

"Wayne told you all that? And can we even trust him?"

"Yeah."

Jack frowned, but didn't try to protest. "I think I'll stay home then."

"Good." His sister left the room without another word, closing the door gently behind her. Dally listened to the footsteps, watched the door intently until their echo could no longer be heard. Briefly, as he turned back to face Jack, he wondered what had just happened.

xxxxxx

Perhaps he should've obeyed Jack's desire to stay home and rest, but he really couldn't help himself. He wanted to fight more than anything, desperately craved the feeling of smashing his fists into another guy's flesh. Of course, he knew he could only watch that night. With a recovering host, he wouldn't have been useful anyway. But it was more than that. He refused to fight for socs, even if doing so would grant his aching knuckles some relief - that flooding sense of comfort that would consume him once he managed to break Shepard's nose.

He felt a bit like a drug addict when it came to violence. Getting recklessly involved in danger just to get his fix... And if he didn't, he'd shake, become angry, take it all out on the things he didn't ever want to hurt. He'd felt that withdrawal creeping up on him earlier in the day, as his boredom had increased, and he'd known that he needed to hit something. Or, at least, see someone get beaten.

The fight had already began by the time he parked his host's car on the side of the road. He wandered round back to the open lot, felt his shaking subside as he laid eyes upon dozens of boys throwing punches and kicking and spilling blood from the jagged wounds in their ripped skin. Fighting the urge to join in, he leaned his back against the hind wall of the grocery store. It was good enough, just watching, though he didn't think it could fully satisfy his need to be physically involved.

"Hey, Jack!"

Dally looked in the direction of the voice and found Dan approaching him. The soc had a bloody nose and a wide grin that revealed his missing teeth. As he got closer, Dal noticed the obvious signs of physical exertion - sweat and heavy breaths.

"Dan," he said, hoping that his companion didn't notice his hatred.

"Glad you're here, buddy," the soc replied, apparently unable to sense the tension between them. "We thought you weren't gonna make it tonight."

"Yeah, well." It wasn't the best response, didn't even say much of anything. Just two words, void in meaning on their own, yet heavy with implications. In Dally's mind, it was all he needed to say in order to convey his feelings about both Dan and socs in general, but the other man was stupid enough that he assumed the conversation wasn't over.

"I know you can't fight cause of your surgery, but we're still happy to see you," he continued, still smiling like crazy. "Be a good cheerleader, okay?" Then he trotted away to rejoin the skirmish.

Deep down, Dally's blood boiled. He wasn't a fucking cheerleader. Fuming, he made a mental note to kick Dan's ass once he no longer needed to possess Jack. When he had his own body back. It was something he truly wanted and he hated thinking that he was so desperate to regain possession of it. Desperation was a powerful weapon to use against someone. It made him vulnerable.

So he forced it all down and tried to focus on the fight. Didn't do him any good to keep thinking about the things that made him weak, anyway. He scanned the crowd, easily finding Tim Shepard in the middle of all the chaos and found himself unable to look away. Something about his rival's fighting style captivated him. It was rough and cruel, but also calculated and smooth. He didn't play games or act overly extravagant. He just fought. Brutal, but honest. And maybe that was what Dal admired most about him. He could control himself and he didn't get involved if he didn't need to and he didn't feel a thrill when someone else's blood ran down his arm.

Groaning inwardly, Dally threw his head back, resting it against the wall of the store. His mind whirled with demands and thoughts all caught up in a haze of need. There had to be a way to relieve his bloodlust. There had to be...

"You watchin' me?" The voice was too distinct, too familiar, to be confused with someone else's.

His gaze shifted to Tim's eyes, locking onto them and faintly wondering how the man had disengaged himself from the fight and approach him without being noticed. "Yeah. Got a problem with that?" After speaking the words, he almost smacked himself. He knew he could've come up with a better comeback, but his mind just wasn't working properly right then.

"Ain't you clever," Tim said, his tone flat and free of any emotion. "Fuckin' soc... Why don't ya make yourself useful and fetch me a beer, eh? You don't got nothin' better to do since ya ain't fightin'." He glanced down at his split knuckles, rubbed the blood off on his jeans. "Well?"

"Fuck you. I ain't your waitress," Dally replied, folding his arms over his chest. "Ask your ma to get it for ya. And while she's takin' a break from whorin', she can do the fightin' for ya too."

Shepard laughed, though the sound was harsh rather than jovial. He flexed his fingers then let one of his hands slip into his pocket, pull out a switchblade. "Didn't know bastards like you had a sense of humor. Almost refreshin' to hear ya joke around. So let me return the favor. What's your daddy do? He a cop? Lawyer, maybe?" The words were pure venom. Dally was sure he would've flinched if nobody else was watching them, but by then, the fight was nearly over and the crowd was relocating itself so that it surrounded the two boys.

He remembered pain and a bloody wrist watch when he answered. "Businessman. Runs the whole place."

"And I s'pose you think he got there honestly," the gang leader replied, smirking in that all-knowing way of his. "Well, let me be the first to tell ya that he sure as hell has been in his fair share of trouble. Even a man like him's gotta bend over if he wants to go somewhere in life."

The way he said 'bend over'... There was no doubt as to what he meant by that. Dally felt shame rush through him and settle in his cheeks. They turned bright red, radiated heat that could physically burn him. Anger followed along with the shame, though he wasn't sure why. It was Jack's dad that Tim had been talking about - a cruel man who'd had the audacity to strike Dallas Winston. Mr. Marshall deserved no sympathy, should've been left to defend himself. But he couldn't keep himself from retorting to save some shred of the man's honor.

"Least he's still around. Where's your pa, Shepard?"

Utter silence.

Then a voice spoke up, familiarly angry and easily recognizable. Even though Dally couldn't see the speaker, he knew, without a doubt, that it was Curly. "You gon take that, Tim? C'mon, just kill that son of a bitch already!"

But Tim was calm, a cocky smirk settled on his sharp features. He glanced around and somehow located his brother despite the crowd. Then his gaze shifted to the former battlefield which was now unoccupied. "Fight's over." Finally, he turned to Dally, appraised the possessed body like he was sizing up an opponent. But he shook his head. "Go home, Soc. Greasers won today."


	7. Day 6

**Reviews:**

 **Lovetoread75 - Aw, thank you so much! I'm glad you've been enjoying the story so far and that you like being able to listen in on Dally's thoughts. :D Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, too!**

Day 6

Dally's blood still boiled from the events of the previous night. He tried not think about Tim's weasel face or the way he had disrespected Jack's father. Why did he even care? With an irritated groan, he ran his fingers through his hair - well, he assumed he touched the silvery blond locks, but he wasn't completely sure. His sense of touch was gone. Not that that was a new occurrence. It just scared him a little each time he remembered. Cause maybe that moment when he'd been standing with Johnny six days ago, was the last time he'd ever feel his own hair.

 _"Listen, Johnnycake, it's real simple," Dally said, leaning up against the rough brick wall of the abandoned building. Even through his jacket, he could feel jagged pieces that stabbed him. His fingers stuffed themselves into his pocket, fished out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. The metal seemed warm, once he really thought about its weight in his hand. He couldn't recall the last time he'd left it at home. "You just gotta get outta there. It ain't good for ya."_

 _His friend shrugged and turned to face the open lot fully. The space wasn't too big, fenced in as it was on three sides by decrepit houses. A sparse grass covered the expanse, looking prickly to the touch. He almost wished he had had the chance to bend down and press his fingers into the dried brown blades. But he'd stayed standing and tried once more to reason with his dark-haired, puppy of a friend._

 _"C'mon," he urged as he lit his cigarette. The warmth of the new flame from his lighter washed over his face for a brief second, but was quickly replaced by a biting rush of wind. "It'll be you and me again. What're ya scared of? Ain't nobody gon touch ya when I'm here."_

 _He wanted to say more, to promise that what he'd said was true. But the words logded themselves in his throat and died. Maybe he could have physically felt that sensation, something building within him only to collapse back upon itself. Although, he doubted that was even possible. So he focused on what he could feel - a strange chill that raised goosebumps on his arms, the hot smoke from his latest drag on the cigarette that sat in his mouth until he blew it into the air. And the beating of his heart, unusually fast as it pounded into the flesh of his chest like it was trying to escape._

 _Strange. He hadn't been aware that waiting for an answer could play with his nerves. But maybe it was just Johnny..._

 _"I dunno, Dal..." Johnny mumbled. "My parents need me. They'd miss me too much if I left without sayin' nothin'. You know that, don't ya?"_

 _"Guess so," he agreed, even though all he wanted to do was knock some sense into that kid. Someone had to tell him the truth, that his folks wouldn't notice if he disappeared. Not until his old man needed something to kick around, anyway. He felt his lip curl up in disgust, but he couldn't say a word against Mr. Cade. That would break the kid's heart._

 _"So, how 'bout we go back to my place?" Johnny said, pushing himself off of the cold brick wall and walking out of the lot. He paused at the edge of the dead grass, waited for Dally to follow. "I can make dinner or whatever."_

 _"Yeah, alright..." he said as he swept a hand through his hair. The strands were dry, free of grease. And they felt soft against his calloused fingers and warm and full of life. With a sigh, he dropped his arm back to his side, crushed out the cigarette that suddenly tasted stale. Then he strode after his friend as dread filled his stomach. Dinner at the Cade house... He was certain he would feel_ that _ache in the morning._

But he hadn't felt a thing. He never woke up or even had the chance to fall asleep. All because he had died that night. What had the car felt like when it struck him? His mind - if his spiritual body possessed such a thing - strained for the details. Yet nothing came to him. Frustrated, he groaned again, stretching himself out on the most likely uncomfortable floor of his host's bedroom.

"You miss your friend."

Dallas bolted into a sitting position, eyes wild and mind filled with a single thought. Protect himself. It was a basic instinct, one he had already failed to carry out. A failure this time would mean... Nothing. It meant nothing. You couldn't kill something that was already dead, no matter how hard you tried. So he forced himself to relax. He leaned back on his hands, grinned at the vaguely familiar man that had appeared beside him.

"Dunno what yer talkin' 'bout," he said as the man sat down. The guy seemed pretty young, now that Dally could really see him. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, probably younger if he was a good judge of age. And Dallas Winston had yet to have been proved wrong by anyone. "Can't ya tell I'm real happy here? I don't miss nobody..."

"Of course not," the Scheduler said dryly. "My mistake."

"Now, what the hell d'ya want?" he demanded, glaring at the spiritual guide. Then his gaze shifted to the bed where Jack had just been sleeping. But his host was awake and currently in the process of getting dressed. "I gotta follow this soc to church or some shit."

The Scheduler rolled his eyes. "Well, forgive me for trying to help you out. Geez, they told me you were going to be a handful, but I didn't think you'd be this bad."

He sat up straight at that. Who'd been bad mouthing him? But his mind forced him away from that topic. It didn't matter right now and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to find out, anyway. Instead, he turned to fully face the Scheduler. This had to be good, receiving much needed help. It had to be. When he replied, he hoped to keep the desperation out of his voice, but he wasn't completely sure that begging a stranger to help him could sound anything other than desperate.

"That's more like it," the man said with a smirk then launched into his piece of advice. "I told you to take care of your host for a reason. His body is the only thing that will allow you to regain your life. However, just because you're using Jack Marshall's body doesn't mean you have to _be_ Jack Marshall."

Then he just disappeared.

Dally remained sitting on the floor, utterly mystified. What had the Scheduler been trying to say? Of course he had to pretend to be Jack. If he acted like himself, then his host's friends and family would become suspicious. And that would be the quickest way to ruin his chance of living again. As it was, his personality clashed terribly with the one he was supposed to imitate and he was pretty damn sick of having to pretend. But he knew he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. His only option was to deal with it until he got his own body back.

xxxxxx

The more he thought about the Scheduler's advice throughout the day, the more he began to understand, or he thought he understood. It wasn't about pretending to be Jack Marshall all the time, only _some_ of the time. And if the social divide was getting in the way of him accomplishing his goal, who the hell said he couldn't do anything about it? His host was a fucking soc, after all. Socs can do whatever they want - they have money!

So maybe, the thing that separated east-siders from west-siders could be a tool to help Dally transcend the divide. He found himself grinning uncontrollably as he pieced his plan together. It almost seemed like he was eager to possess Jack's body. But he knew that was not the case. He would never be excited to be excited to become a soc. Not ever. All he looked forward to was being a greaser again.

When the time came, he took over his host almost effortlessly. Each night, the experience became less strange. He still felt that unsettling rush of pleasure, of course, but he managed to ignore it. Well, it was impossible to be completely unaware, so he just tried not to think about the feeling too much.

He glanced in the mirror, saw Jack's face, and nodded his satisfaction. The weirdness was over for the night, thankfully. Without another moment given to hesitation, he stuffed Jack's wallet into his back pocket then went on his way, striding briskly.

Before too long, he arrived at a store on neutral territory. For the most part, the shop serviced greasers, but socs were free to buy from here too. And it was run by average people, the go-between for the two warring classes. Sure, not everybody liked them - that went for both sides - and life got hard for them as well. Sometimes, it was like the 'normal' people were the outcasts. Dally had never minded them himself, but he ran with greasers who called them 'soc-wannabes' or worse.

But he was more than thankful for them now, as he paid for his items and stepped into the fitting room to get changed. He took off Jack's nice jeans and threw on the pair he had just bought. Bending down slightly, he ripped holes in the knees then made plans to roll around in some dirt. After that, he replaced his host's sweater with a tight-fitting black t-shirt and did the same with his shoes, switching from soc style to ones that suited a greaser. He admired his host's new look in the mirror, but knew something was missing. With a sigh, he dumped half a tube of hair grease into his palms then ran his hands through his dark locks.

The look was absolutely perfect, but that didn't mean he was at all happy about what he'd had to do. His only consolation was that it was Jack's hair he was ruining, not his own. And he supposed that was good enough for him.

He shoved Jack's clothes into the back seat of his car then drove back into soc territory. Feeling a tiny bit of nervousness, he parked it on the side of a road near the border and hopped out. Tested the door to be sure it was locked - once then twice. Satisfied, he took a deep breath and crossed over to the greaser side.

xxxxxx

"Who're you?"

Dally cringed as he closed the door behind him. Sure, he'd been hoping that someone was awake at the Curtis residence, but he hadn't wanted to be caught sneaking in. The living room light came on and he noticed that it was only Pony standing there in his pajamas.

"The name's Jack," he replied with ease. "Got kicked outta my dad's place and somebody told me I could crash here for a bit." He forced himself to glance around as if he was unfamiliar with the place. Finally, he set his gaze on the kitchen, which was faintly illuminated by the lamplight from the living room. "You got any food over there? Haven't eaten in a while... Not properly, anyway."

"Uh, sure, I guess," the youngest Curtis said, walking to the refrigerator. He pawed through its contents for a little bit then pulled out a small bowl of something Dally couldn't see. "Hard boiled eggs. Want 'em?"

"Course," Dally took the bowl from the boy, ate one before he allowed himself to say anything else. He sat down at the table and gestured for Pony to do the same. "I wanna ask you something." Ponyboy raised an eyebrow, but didn't object. So he took it as a cue to continue. "Is it true? What I been hearin' 'bout Dallas Winston, I mean. Is he really dead?"

The boy's shoulders tensed up noticeably. "Who told ya that?"

"A couple people, mainly from Shepard's gang. Some Tigers, too, but I know by now not to trust a word they say." He smiled disarmingly and he was relieved when he saw Pony relax slightly. So he let the silence continue, long enough for him to finish off another egg. Then he tried again. "But you didn't answer. Is it true?"

"Nah, Dal's tougher than that," the kid said, taking an egg for himself. "He ain't gonna just lay down and die. Give him some time. I bet he'll be out on the streets pretty soon."

Dally fought back the urge to smile at his answer. What he'd described certainly was true to the blond hood's nature and it was almost nice to hear somebody talk about him like that. However, his good mood - and the possibility of securing his first tear - was ruined by Ponyboy's response to his next question.

"The two of you are friends, yeah? I bet you're worryin' night and day for 'im."

"Not really... We ain't that close..."

"Oh..."

Dally coughed awkwardly, but didn't try to change Pony's mind. That was it, the end of the line. He made up some bullshit excuse for suddenly needing to leave then exited the house hastily. Damn... His mind replayed that final exchange again and again. If Ponyboy Curtis didn't care for him one way or the other, who else would? Fucking hell... He was doomed.


	8. Day 7

**Reviews:**

 **Unknown identity 90 - Yeah, it's a little sad, but Pony means well. He thinks Dally would be pissed if he'd heard that the gang was worrying too much.**

 **cookieswafflesandfanfic - Haha, there is no such thing as too many exclamation points! But on a serious note, I'm so glad you like the story. :)**

 **Lovetoread75 - You know, that's a good question. I didn't think about the possibility that Jack's friends would see him dressed as a greaser. Maybe I just assumed Dally would be careful enough that he would keep the two personalities separate.**

 **One Wing In The Fire - Thanks! Sorry I've been taking forever with the updates...**

 **GladerTributeCamper - Thank you! I'm really sorry that these updates are so infrequent. I hope to do better in the future. In the meantime, it would mean a lot to me if you continued to support this story.**

Day 7

"Hey, Jack, wait up!"

Dally's host turned around to catch a glimpse of the guy who had called out to him. He smiled faintly when he noticed Dan. The soc shoved some greaser kids out of his way and jogged forward. Dallas rolled his eyes. It was too bad he was just a soul - and therefore invisible - cause that asshole really deserved to see the expression.

"Yeah?" Jack said, raising an eyebrow a bit. He clutched his books to his chest and cringed when one of the corners dug into his still-tender ribs. His other arm remained cradled in a sling. Dally watched him with the feverish gleam of lazy interest in his eyes. Mostly healed after only a few days... That rate of recovery was impossible. What the hell was going on?

"Your mom said you got into a car accident on Friday," Dan said. "How... How are you even here? I thought it was real bad. I thought you were..." He blinked furiously then turned away.

Jack nudged him with his elbow. "Come on, don't be like that. I'm fine. I had a few surgeries and now I'm ok. Judy's not doing as well, though."

Dally nodded his head. It was a good thought. A distraction. Without a doubt, Jack was feeling like hell, but he wouldn't want his friends to know. He felt that too. It was killing him that the gang could see him in such a weakened state. All they had to do was visit the hospital and ask for his room. And they could all look at him. Shriveled, pale, brain dead, kept alive only by machines. Why hadn't they pulled the plug yet?

But Jack's situation wasn't nearly so bad. Functioning just as he always did... His only problem was pain and not being able to use his arm for a while. God, what he'd give for some busted ribs... He'd trade injuries with Jack any day.

The conversation between Socs had shifted its focus to Judy, just as Jack had surely intended. Dally skulked along behind the pair, listening to a summary of the girl's concussion symptoms. He almost felt a pang of pity for her. But then he shook his head into clarity. Whatever. He'd seen and dealt with worse back on the east side. These privileged socs drove him beyond crazy. They thought they could sit around and complain about pain, ignoring all the times they'd inflicted it on someone else. Hypocrisy.

"So what's her greasy boyfriend have to say about that?" Dan asked as they stepped in to the lunch room. His eyes were focused on one of the windows across the cafeteria. Dally followed his gaze and sighed.

Wayne Carver sat in the bed of an old red pickup, cigarette hanging between his lips. Like Dally, he wasn't fond of slicking back his hair, but a whole hoard of greasy heads surrounded him. His followers. See, Carver didn't have a gang, per se. Just a bunch of kids that worshipped the ground he walked on. Friends weighed him down. It was easier when you just had to look out for yourself.

When the greaser noticed the socs watching him, he launched himself off of the truck and strolled into the cafeteria. Dally raised an eyebrow. A greaser confronting two socs in the middle of school? Now that was unexpected.

"Take it easy on this one here, Carver," Dally said, patting Jack's shoulder. Pain flooded through his hand and he quickly pulled back with a curse. "I still gotta use him, you know." But the encounter turned out much different than he had been expecting. Instead of throwing a punch, Wayne stopped just out of reach.

"Judy's... She's ok, yeah?" he asked.

"Oh look at that, the grease stain has feelings," Dan said, laughing as he glanced around. Probably looking for the support of his soc friends. But only Jack was within earshot and his face was unusually severe.

"Shut the fuck up, MacAlistair." Wayne gritted his teeth and curled his hands into fists. In a rare show of self control, he unclenched his fingers. He turned fully toward Jack. "Is she alright?"

Dally walked a full circle around Carver, looking him up and down. Something seemed off about him, but he couldn't quite place it. Maybe it was possible that Wayne actually cared about more than his own wellbeing. Unlikely. But there wasn't any other option coming to mind. Why else would he be so... out of sorts? His hair hadn't been brushed in a while. Or washed, for that matter; Dally's nose crinkled in disgust at the thought. The lank black strands hung in red-rimmed eyes and he wondered if that color came from drug use or lack of sleep. Both?

But the guy he knew never really went for that kind of thing. He was always pretty clean for a greaser - in both senses of the word. Took a shower almost every day, dressed as well as he could afford, only smoked half a pack a week... Dally stifled a smile. Wayne Carver was as strange as he was dangerous. That was a proven fact.

"Yeah, she's fine," Jack said at last. He turned pointedly away, towards the lunch line. "Just a concussion."

Dan glared at Wayne for a moment then grabbed Jack's arm. They took a few steps in the direction of food before the greaser could say anything more. He stood utterly motionless, eyes wide. When he recovered himself, he walked through Dally to continue the conversation.

The spirit collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain. It was intense, more intense than it had ever been before. He might've screamed, but he couldn't remember. All he could feel was burning. All over his body, consuming him. Then it was gone, as if it had been no more than a candle, easily snuffed out. He lay still for a moment and pulled himself together. Feeling better, he jumped to his feet, avoiding contact with everything.

By then, Jack had moved through the line. He sat at a round table with a large group of socs, lunch ready to be eaten. Dally approached warily, even though he knew they could not see him. But that wouldn't stop them from sending him into terrible convulsions if they passed through his body. The thought made him shudder. So much pain in such a short amount of time...

"So Jack," one of the soc girls began, leaning her elbows onto the tabletop, "you know how my cousin works at that shop, right? The one in neutral territory?"

"Kaitlin?"

The girl nodded a few times. "Yeah, her. Well, we were talking on the phone the other day and she said you came by. You bought some weird clothes then just left without saying hi..."

"I... did?" Jack replied, brows furrowed. He glanced around to the others at the table, but they were all involved in their own discussions. Even Dan. But, even though he didn't know it, he had Dally's full attention. "That's really strange. I don't remember going there."

Dally studied his host, almost anxious. If Jack began to piece together what was going on, then surely his mission would be in danger. His life was in danger. He should've been more careful... But how was he supposed to know that he'd be spotted by a cousin of Jack's friend? Socs weren't usually related to the middle class. Back then, that had seemed too improbable to even consider. Then again, so was the idea of being resurrected or whatever this quest was meant to do.

"Come to think of it," Jack continued, "I've been forgetting a lot of things recently..."

"That's really scary," the girl said as she scooped up a forkful of salad. "Maybe you should go see a doctor."

xxxxxx

After school, Jack decided to take his friend's advice. He drove his car a half hour across the city to his doctor's lavish office. Dally's stomach churned the whole way there and he couldn't help but worry for the safety of his quest. What if the doctor screwed everything up? What if he'd have to waste his days watching Jack sit through excruciating hours of therapy?

The pair ended up in the waiting room for the better part of an hour. The furniture there looked soft, making Dally almost wished that he could feel it in his current state. But he shook that idea out of his head quickly. There was no point in wanting to experience soc things. And he hated doctors anyway.

"Jack Marshall?" A secretary with a clipboard appeared in the doorway to the exam rooms. The soc stood up when his name was called and she smiled at him. "Doctor Goldberg is ready for you now. Please follow me."

They strolled through a labyrinth of hallways and doctors rooms, sometimes pausing to check in with other assistants. After what seemed like hours, they reached the end of their last corridor. A single door was open. With a smile, she ushered the boy in to the room. Dally followed, observing everything with suspicion in his eyes.

A man in a white coat sat on the only chair in the room. He, too, held a clipboard, but he looked up from it as Jack entered. "Hello, Mr. Marshall. I've heard you had quite an eventful week."

"You could say that..." Jack said with a feeble laugh.

"So, what sort of problem are we dealing with here?"

Jack hesitated. "Well... uh... My memory. See, things keep happening to me but I don't remember them. Pretty significant things." He waited for Dr. Goldberg to finish his notes then continued. "Like, I couldn't remember that my father had hit me or that I drove home drunk or that I'd gone to a shop and bought new clothes."

The doctor asked him a couple questions, mostly about stress and his drinking habits. Dally listened, yawning occasionally. He tried to occupy himself with counting the number of blue stripes in the wallpaper. But, once he got to 57, he became too fidgety to continue. In the end, he focused back in on the conversation.

"Just take these pills when you get home," the doctor instructed as he handed Jack a cylindrical white bottle. "Two every six hours. And please remember that this is an experimental medication. Side effects could be... adverse."

xxxxxx

Jack had only just taken his dosage of the pills when Dally began to feel that familiar urge. The calling that made his skin crawl. He cast his gaze towards the soc, finding him already passed out on the bed. With a string of curses, he let instinct take over. It only took a second, but even that felt too long when he was directly confronted by such unsettling feelings.

He ignored them until they disappeared then made his plan for the day. Well, evening. By his estimate he had about two more hours than usual. That meant he could probably catch dinner at the Curtis house. That place was his best option if he wanted to live again. Anywhere else wouldn't make any sense.

Just as he made it to the staircase, a small voice called out to him. He whirled around. The space behind him was nearly empty, just a faint humanoid shadow on the floorboards. His eyes scanned the area, resting on Judy's delicate form. She stood in the doorway of her bedroom, one arm braced against the wall and the other wrapped around her stomach. He frowned at her.

"What?" he asked.

She bit her lip for a moment as she contemplated whether or not to go through with her plan. Whatever it was... Dally wasn't exactly one who appreciated guessing games. It was faster to just be told the information. But he figured he'd best give his host's sister the time she needed. She was concussed, after all.

"I... Well, I was wondering if..." Her eyes dropped to the floor and she spent altogether too long analyzing the cracks in the wood. "Did Wayne, maybe, say something to you? Did he seem worried?"

"Course he was worried," Dally said before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to talk to talk to this girl. And frankly, he probably shouldn't have bothered. But he was her brother now, wasn't he? At least... she thought he was. "I've never seen him so upset before. God, he looks like he's barely takin' care of himself. Even had the nerve to come up to me in lunch to ask how you were. And I couldn't just leave him like that so I told him you were pretty good."

Judy's eyes glowed like embers. A smile split her face nearly in two and she giggled a bit as she backed up into her room. "Thanks, Jack..."

"Yeah, whatever. Get some rest... He's gonna wanna see you in school soon."

Without waiting for a reply, Dally descended the staircase. He didn't want to be late for dinner. And considering his messed up arm, he wouldn't be able to drive. Well, he could... He'd done it before. But he kinda just wanted some fresh air.

His mother... Jack's mother stopped him at the front door. She asked him if he would be home for supper, but he told her he'd been invited to Dan's place. A faint frown tugged at the corner of her lips yet she said nothing more on the topic. She pressed a kiss against his cheek then stepped back to look at him over.

"I wish you'd take it easy... It's only been a few days since the accident," she said. "But I suppose it's natural for you to be like this."

"Mom, I'll be ok," Dally replied, rolling his eyes. It all felt so familiar. Kinda like he'd been there his entire life. He didn't even realize it until later. For the moment, he allowed himself to pretend he wasn't forgetting his mother's death.

"Just be careful..." She turned toward the kitchen but stopped abruptly. With a guilt ridden look, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "I almost forgot to..." She laughed a bit, mostly to herself, then continued. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

He'd made it most of the way to the Curtis house by the time he realized what had happened. What the hell was the matter with him? How could he just say stuff like that to a woman he barely knew? His own mother had been gone a long time. He couldn't even remember what she used to look like. It was better that way. Less to hang on to. But this woman... Mrs. Marshall... She didn't resemble any of the vague memories he had left. He shook his head vigorously, trying to refocus.

As he drew closer to his destination, he ducked into a small alleyway to get changed into his greaser clothes. He'd forgotten the hair oil at home, but he figured that didn't matter much. If anything, it made it easier to transition back to soc territory. He supposed he should be thankful for that. Even if all he wanted to do was stay here where he belonged. With his friends.

His mind slipped in and out and next he knew, he was just another greaser standing on the Curtis' doorstep. Before he could throw the door open, he hesitated. Doubts hit him hard in the stomach. Nagging questions. Like if he still had the right to barge in or if he should knock or if he should just give up and go home. Home... He didn't know what that meant anymore. This place was his home, wasn't it? Not the Marshall mansion house.

He gritted his teeth and just went for it. Before he could change his mind, he pounded his fist against the door. It took a while for anyone to answer- time he used to perfect his own version of Johnny's lost puppy look.

When the door swung open, he came face to face with Soda. His friend observed him in silence for a second, eyebrow cocked. He didn't think he'd ever get used to that. The guys looking at him like they had no clue who he was. But that was the truth. They didn't know Jack. They didn't know Dally wasn't in the hospital. All they knew was that the hood was fighting for his life.

"I've never seen you around here before," Soda said when the internal investigation ended. He cracked a smile and stepped aside. "Come in. We've got plenty o' extra food for dinner."

"Thanks..." Dally hung his head and slouched slightly as he followed Soda into the house. He could smell the sauce, heard it simmering on the stove. But he didn't dare look up. "You and the other one are alright, you know."

"Pony? Aw, yeah! He said something bout a greaser that came by yesterday."

"Probably me," Dally said as they entered the kitchen. "I'm Jack. Just got into town a few days back and my pa's already kicked me out. The snake... Who does he think he is...?"

Darry looked up from his pasta, stifling a yawn. "Good to meet you, Jack. Help yourself. We got more than enough..."

Dally got himself situated at the table with a small bowl. He stared down at the plain pasta, wondering if he would have any luck trying to make the older Curtis siblings cry for him. Soda seemed like the best bet. But he hesitated, unsure of how to start the conversation.

"So... I been hearing all sorts of things bout this one guy," he began, glancing around at both of the guys to assess their emotions. In his pause, he took a bite of the noodles. "Dallas Winston? They said you knew him."

Soda's shoulders went rigid and he turned toward the stove top abruptly. Darry was much more careful with his reactions. Only his eyes changed, becoming cold and suspicious.

"What're you asking?" the oldest Curtis said.

"I just wanna know what really happened to him," Dally said. Soda excused himself in hushed tones and fled to the room he shared with Pony. He stared after his friend for a moment. "I don't mean to upset anyone. But I'm curious and the rumors are getting out of control. Those boys out there will tell ya pigs can fly if they think they can get away with it..."

Darry raised an eyebrow. "Rumors?"

Dally nodded, but didn't elaborate. The two greasers sat in silence as Dally finished the rest of his meal. He wondered if the questioning would continue. And he found himself thinking about Soda. Poor kid seemed real distressed. Was it possible that he...? Heart pounding, he pulled the tear collector necklace out of his pocket and glanced at it underneath the table. Empty.

His stomach twisted and he nearly lost his dinner. He swallowed hard. So Soda wasn't as caring as he had thought... When he stood up, he nearly knocked the chair over backwards. Darry scolded him, though he couldn't hear it. Not over his own cursing. Wasn't even sure where it all came from. It just overflowed and he lost control of it all. He paced the kitchen floor, swearing and fighting back against that burning sensation behind his eyes.

"You ok, kid?" Darry asked.

"Yeah, yeah... Sorry.. I just... I have to go," he replied, running his uninjured hand through his hair. "Thanks for dinner..." He bolted to the door.

He fumbled with the knob for an eternity before he was able to scramble out into the lawn. By then, he felt halfway crazy. It was like being on a hallucinogen. Not the visual kind, but the ones that made him feel weird, hear things. He threw himself down to the grass and clutched at the blades like a lifeline. How long would it be until he lost his grip? He tore out the green strands in a burst of violence and threw them to the evening air. Just grass... Still alive...

"W-what are you doing here?"

When he recognized the voice, everything broke inside him. He wanted so badly to just go home. He wanted to be among his own kind, in his own body. He never wanted to be Jack Marshall again. Even if it meant he had to die. Tears spilled freely over his bottom eyelids and he did nothing to stop them. His cheeks blushed bright red for reasons he couldn't identify and without warning, the cool air turned scalding.

"Johnny..."

"You're that soc from before." Johnny kept his distance. But seeing this complete stranger break down made him much less scared. He was able to maintain a steady voice and prevent his knife hand from shaking under the weight of the switchblade that had found a home in his palm. "Why are you following me?"

Dally couldn't pull himself together enough to answer properly. Instead, he rubbed at his sore eyes and mumbled near nonsense into the air. "Nothing else to do... Only choice... Fuck, I'm gonna die..." Then the clouds parted, bringing clarity to his mind. He met Johnny's gaze evenly, still tears eyes razor blade sharp. "I saw your friend in the hospital. Dallas Winston. Have you?"

The younger boy stared at him. He must've been stunned cause he wasn't moving any and he didn't seem about ready to speak, either. This was Dally's chance. Probably his last too. If he couldn't make it work right then, he would tell the Scheduler that he gave up. Then he could die in peace. Hopefully.

"I think he's gonna die," he continued, pushing himself to his feet. He wobbled a bit when he stood on his own, but that wouldn't stop him from saying his piece, even if he collapsed while saying it. "He's hooked up to all sorts of machines. The types that do the eating and breathing for ya cause he can't do it on his own. That's a shitty life. For sure. It's better if he just dies. Less painful for everyone..."

Johnny's bottom lip quivered. "Stop..."

"He's just a husk now. Lost everything. Pounds of weight, the color in his face... Turn the machines off already. He's dead inside. He gave up on you, Johnny."

It tore Dally's soul in two when he saw the expression on the boy's face, when he understood that he'd caused it. But it was necessary. The way he saw it, the sooner he got back to his life, the sooner he could make it up to Johnny. Poor kid looked like he'd been kicked a few times too many. Just had that look about him, especially when his arms wrapped around his frail body to protect himself from words he couldn't unhear.

"No..." he whispered.

But Dally was not focused on the words of his closest friend. Instead, his gaze clung to the watery gleam in the boy's eyes. So close... So god damn close... He silently begged for mercy from any higher authority he could think of. Just this once... He only needed luck for this one tear.

His own lids shut out the remainder of the interaction. He couldn't stand seeing Johnny's pain anymore. All he wanted was a chance to live. Was it really worth the pain he'd just inflicted on his friend? And what if the tear didn't fall? Was it all for nothing?

 _Please... Please..._


	9. Day 7 Part 2

Day 7 Part 2

Dally's mind hadn't registered that he'd been running. Not until he stopped at the very edge of greaser territory. He came to a skidding halt before crossing over, panting as cool sweat dripped down from his hair. The dank locks hung in his eyes and, for the first time, he could see that they weren't his usual shade of silver blond. Maybe he still hadn't come to terms with the fact that this was all real. That he was slowly dying and the only way to stop it was to prove to some mythical being that his friends actually cared about him.

He was still Jack. He still had that teardrop necklace. That damn necklace… If he could, he would've thrown it to the ground and smirked as he watched it shatter. But he figured doing so would burn the only bridge he had left. His only chance of going home. Gone. Not that he had much of a chance as it was. Even his closest friend had refused to cry.

Instinctively, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and slouched his way back to the Marshall house. The glass of the necklace was smooth against his palm. He tried to ignore it, pretend it didn't bother him at all.

The sun had disappeared below the horizon some time ago and it was a heavy night that took its place. Clouds gathered in thick plumes over the city. Looked like rain to him. Or maybe that was just the product of his sour mood. He stared up at the sky, catching glimpses of scattered stars through small tears in the clouds. It was strange that he'd never really bothered to look before. How had he taken something so awe-inspiringly vast for granted? Well, he'd done the same to his own damn friends. He had no right to act surprised.

"Jack?"

Dally whipped around at the sound of the voice calling him. No… calling for his host. When he turned, he found a car rolling along beside him. A new car. Shiny, clean, nearly soundless. A soc car. He paused on the sidewalk and the driver stopped with him.

"Why are you dressed like that?" It was Dan's voice and he tried his best not to groan. The socy asshole was the last person he wanted to see right then. He kept walking.

"Jack, come on," Dan said as he continued to drive alongside Dally. "Don't be like that. You must be real drunk or something. Let me give you a ride home."

"I can walk, thanks," Dally replied, avoiding eye contact and walking a bit faster. To him, it all felt like he was about to be jumped, rather than be helped. Not that he needed the soc's help, anyway. He clenched his fists in his pockets, bit down on the inside of his lip. Anything he could do to keep the memories from coming to the forefront of his thoughts. The slight pain was the best distraction he had access to at the moment.

"Just get in the damn car."

Why wouldn't Dan leave him alone? He was dressed as a greaser and surely looked like hell. But he supposed that if the soc was so persistent, he'd have to give in. It must've been uncharacteristic of Jack to refuse a ride from his best friend. And anything that hinted at what was truly going on was a threat to his quest. With an inward sigh, he climbed into the passenger seat.

"What's going on?' Dan asked. He pressed down lightly on the accelerator then glanced over at Dally. "You've been acting really weird lately. We're all getting worried…"

Dally set his gaze on some point far beyond the windshield. "Things change when you get hit by a car." His voice was level but on the inside, he felt a thrill of panic. There was no reason for him to say such a thing. It was lucky for him that Jack had recently been involved in a car accident, otherwise he would've found himself in even more trouble.

Dan glanced at the man who he assumed was his friend then turned back to the road. He didn't say a word for the rest of the drive to the Marshall house. Even when he unlocked the doors, he couldn't bring himself to make a sound. Dally figured he was still too stunned by what he had heard Jack say.

"Thanks for the ride, I guess," he said as he hopped out of the car. Then he slammed the door shut and made his way into the mansion.

He didn't think he'd ever get used to it. The way the house loomed over him. The way it was so lavishly decorated. It seemed impossible that someone could make enough money to live in a place like that. Maybe college was good for something after all. Except for the debt and sheer boredom of more years of study, of course. He wondered if someone like him would ever be able to pay it all off. Be as successful as Mr. Marshall appeared to be. Heaving a sigh, he climbed the stairs to his room.

As he stepped through the open door, he drew back in shock. The Scheduler stood before him with a toothy grin plastered on his face.

"Dallas Winston!"

"Ugh, you," Dally replied, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be off fucking with someone else's life?"

"Oh, don't be so sour," the man said. "You should be quite pleased to see me. After all, I came to congratulate you. Obtaining your first tear is a big deal."

"What do you…" Dally's hand closed around the necklace in his pocket and ripped it out. He stared down at the tiny glass pendent. It was… well it wasn't empty. A clear drop of liquid filled in the bottom third. "Goddamn… Johnny cried."

The Scheduler's smile widened until his face looked fit to break in two. He tried to hug Dally but the greaser held up his free hand to ward the man off. But the almost-invasion of his personal space didn't bother him as much as he had expected it to. Everything – all the negatives from his past, the unpleasantness from hours earlier – seemed so insignificant now. It had faded into the background, as if it no longer mattered. He had wasted his life up to this point and now he had another chance. Almost. He just needed two more tears.


End file.
